“And you see,” continued the child eagerly, “even if we are not to do any manner of work--and of course, every one really does a good deal--you can’t possibly call it work to take a snap-shot. Why it says, you know, in the advertisement, that it’s no labour at all. ‘_You_ press the button, _we_ do all the rest,’ and one wouldn’t ask them to do the developing to-day. It’s really not so bad as Sir Roderick’s ringing the bell as he’s doing now, for when he rings twice like that, Dugald has to come hurrying upstairs like lightning, and I know he has had hardly any time for his dinner.” At that moment the servant entered in response to his master’s peremptory summons. Ralph watched him keenly, and had no manner of doubt that this man was the shepherd’s son, for the likeness to Angus Linklater was marked. An expressive little bit of pantomime followed; he could not hear the actual words spoken by Sir Roderick, but the insufferable tone and manner of the master and the expression of long-enduring but sorely tried patience on the face of the man, were quite sufficient to reveal much of their characters. Soon after this the visitors rose to go, and Sir Roderick having taken leave of them in a pleasant and courteous fashion, turned round on his wife the moment the door was closed, and apparently forgetting that they were not alone, hurled at her a torrent of abuse and scathing sarcasm, which made Ralph long to kick him down-stairs. It seemed to be about some salmon flies which had been left behind in London, Dugald having failed to find them in their right place, and imagining that they had been sent by his master with the first instalment of luggage brought to Edinburgh by the rest of the family some weeks ago. In Lady Fenchurch’s manner of receiving her husband’s anger there was the calmness of long use, but her colour rose a little because of the injustice of the attack, and from a sort of shame that Ralph Denmead should witness the scene. “I am sorry the mistake was made, but you forget we are not alone,” she said, seizing on a moment when for want of breath he ceased to swear. He glanced towards the window with annoyance, and with a malice which his hearers perfectly understood, suddenly changed his line. “Well, if it is not your fault then it must be Dugald’s fault. The d------d scoundrel shall leave the very day. I can get another man. I’m sick of the sight of him. He shall see that I’m not to be imposed upon by an idle fellow who doesn’t know his duties. He shall go, and with the worst character I ever gave to a servant. He came to me with a bad one, and I’ll add a telling bit to it.” “I only wonder he has endured the situation so long.” said Christine, stung by the unfairness of this retaliation. “But you punish yourself more than you punish him; think what trouble you had before he came. The best servants must now and then make mistakes.”